Dissecting the Conundrum
by Marchenplushie28
Summary: ::The Chocolate War:: It isn't love, but it's not exactly like anything he's ever had before. It's a connection. Sort of Archie/OC
1. Chapter 1

**Title:** Dissecting the Conundrum

**Description:** It isn't love, but it's not exactly like anything he's ever had before. It's a connection. Sort of Archie/OC

**A/N:** _Hey people. What's up?  
_

_So, here's the thing. I love The Chocolate War. Absolutely l o v e it, and I feel like there needs to be way more fanfiction for it, so I'm writing some (or at least just this one). It'll be a three part little story. I'm not quite sure I have Archie's character right, but hopefully it's not too far off. He's so hard to get down! XP_

_Thanks for reading, anyway, and reviews are always welcome. Constructive criticism too. :) _

_(Gahhh, I need to get back into the habit of writing FULL SENTENCES.)  
_

_**Part One**_

He likes the softness, their hands roaming and touching. He likes the way the girls pant beneath him, grasping at his shoulders as if he's an anchor for them. (Grasping at the shoulders that are still clad in the jacket of his school uniform, because he won't even make that concession. This isn't about skin on skin—it's about relief, about needs. The sweat and the saliva just get in the way, too human for him to really want to partake in.) He likes the way they stare at him in awe when he whispers filthy things in their ears, and makes them come, screaming his name again and again. _Archie, Archie, Archie!_ They always react the same, always assume the same liberties of freely using his name, as if they actually know him.

He likes the way he can manipulate them, the way he can always know exactly what's coming, but sometimes it does get boring. Sometimes, he wants a surprise. It never seems to come though, and he contents himself with knowing that all it means is that he's still better than them all. There's no one he can't dissect.

It's the same at this party that he's sitting in on. The music is loud, too much so for his tastes, pumping through the house's wooden frame with a vengeance. People dance and pump their fists with it as it vibrates up from the floorboards and through their bodies. They scream, communicating mindlessly, like wild monkeys. Dirty. Uneducated.

Archie watches as a girl frees herself from the crowd, pushing the boy she'd been dancing with away from her in the process. He sees the vicious curl to the boy's lip, the way he sways in a half drunken glaze before stumbling after her, fingers twitching with the beginnings of violence, and knows what's going to happen already. Horrible. Beautiful too, in that vicious way of human beings, but mostly horrible.

He wonders if she'll cry afterwards. She pushes the boy away again, trembling, when he reaches her, and then scurries out the door. Oh yes. She'll sob. Or perhaps someone will come to her rescue before that, and save the poor, screaming damsel in distress.

Either way, the boy-monster follows her out.

The couch dips beside him, human warmth permeating the space along with a faint perfume. A girl then. He leans back, relaxing into the couch without looking at her, and waits for her to strike up a conversation. They always do, after all, but he waits and nothing comes. Silence. He allows himself a glance at the girl, and takes in a still, undeterminable expression framed in drooping brown locks. She doesn't glance at him once, and something about it irks him. He narrows his eyes and turns back to the crowd.

It's only when a slow dance starts, and people scurry about more frantically than ever, trying to find partners, that she speaks. "It's so stupid, isn't it?" she mutters. It seems to be more to herself than him, the question posed not expecting an answer. She falls quiet again after saying it, and doesn't put forth anything more.

His mind wanders to other things as he looks back at the crowd, and finds the quiet ringing in his ears. Would she be so quiet as he ran his fingers across her skin? Would she let go and scream as he took her? Or, even then, would she try to keep it in and bite down on her lip with muffled gasps? She's average looking—hell, she's a little overweight to be honest. Nothing special. She's just—_quiet, _and he wonders. Again he finds himself irked, because he doesn't _know._

He reaches out to her, formulating the motions in his head as he goes, fingers brushing lightly against her arm. "You don't look like you're having much fun," he drawls, his lips twitching upwards in a sympathetic smile (one that is only half faked, as he can't say this is exactly fun for him either).

She pauses, opens her mouth. Her tongue darts out, wetting her lips, and he lets his eyes follow it briefly before returning to her face. "You don't either," she finally says. He smiles more pronouncedly, and this time what she says is expected. "You wanna go outside and talk? I could use a second away from…this." She waves a dismissive hand at the party and he nods, the small triumph calming the discontent that had been bubbling inside him.

When they get out, they do talk. For a minute. He's on his game now though, spinning his webs and catching her up in them.

They end up doing it in the back seat of his car. It's unplanned. It's messy. He deals with it though, as he pushes her back onto the seat and begins to move. Neither of them takes off anything that isn't necessary for the act, but he plays it down to them being in a car, not her being unpredictable. Not to her being unlike the other girls, who simply whimper and squirm beneath him as he pushes their shirts up over their heads to reveal milky, gentle curves.

What he can't play off to the car is that she falls into neither the "screaming" nor "lip biting" category. She makes one of her own. Bar the panting she is dead silent, not a single noise slipping out, and that throws him off just a little more. He wonders, _wonders_, what else there is to this girl that he can't predict. What else to this girl isn't what it seems to be? He's thinking too much now though, he assures himself, and continues to move, pressing his mouth to hers tightly to drown out the silence.

A few more minutes and he spends himself, though he hates to think of it in such terms. He tries not to think about it in general, instead pulling back and laying himself languidly against the back of the seat. He lets out a deep breath and affords her a glance, only to find that she's pulled her panties back up under her dress and is opening the car door to get out.

It takes a second for him to realize that he is about to ask her where she is going, because none of the other girls have ever just left. They always try and talk to him after, quietly, pressing against him. She doesn't. He bites his tongue, swallowing the urge, and without thinking about it his slender fingers curl into clenched fists. Archie Costello can dissect anybody. This girl isn't an exception.

It just takes time, once in a while, he assures himself. It just takes time.


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N:**_ Chapter twoooooo!_

_Grrr. I feel like I deviated even further from the character in this chapter at the end. Issues, issues, issues people. *sigh*_

_**Part Two**_

Later that week, he has Obie dig up what he can on her.

The other boy looks confused at the request for a moment, not sure what the connection is with this girl to the activities of The Vigils. He follows the orders though, because Archie is Archie, and Archie always has his plans, even if it might not seem like it at first. Not this time though, Obie. This time, it's a personal matter. Archie keeps this to himself however as Obie scurries away, his pride-and-joy notebook tucked safely under one arm. They work on a need to know basis, he and the rest of the world, and this certainly isn't something Obie needs to know.

The information comes back plentiful, not that he expected anything less. They sit in the bleachers as Obie lists it off, reminiscent of a time that he tries not to remember now. The problem is over. Renault is gone. Defeated. He focuses on Obie's words.

"…she's not in any clubs. Keeps to herself mostly. Has a little brother she picks up every day after school, and then heads home. Oh, and I heard round about that she just got out of a relationship, too."

Archie ignores the pause in Obie's very being, the waiting for him to say something, and mulls over the information in his head. _They're all so stupid, aren't they?_ The comment makes more sense now. She makes more sense now, and somehow it disappoints him a little. She's just another broken heart, as they say. At the same time though, it calms him. He's still on top. He's still Archie Costello: the man, the undefeatable, the great.

He leans back against the row of seats behind him, and stares out, not really seeing. "Hey. You know what?" he asks, and he can feel the boy's anticipation coil up tighter inside him.

"What?" Obie replies.

He picks at a frayed spot in the cuff of his jacket, staring into nothingness. "I don't think we've done anything in a while. What will the boys think? We should do something Obie. Give me a name. A name, Obie."

He's given a name, quietly. It's one of the first since the whole fiasco with the chocolates.

They sit in silence for a moment after that. It reminds Archie of the party, of the girl and her broken heart, and the chocolates too. It reminds him of the quiet after he'd beaten Jerry Renault, and plucked out the very last ounce of his resistance. It reminds him…

"Assignment?" Obie asks.

Archie sighs and stands up. "Let me think about," he says, and then he walks away, leaving Obie on the bleachers with his all-knowing notebook—the notebook that chooses fates and unravels human conundrums.

* * *

He's not surprised when he sees her at a mixer between Trinity and one of the girls schools, but he can't say he's been expecting it.

This time she doesn't sit on the sidelines, sullen and quiet, but fits in quite nicely with the crowd. The music is a far cry from that of the first party, but it is a school function after all.

He watches her move, mindlessly now, like the rest of them, her hips swaying back and forth. Tonight, she's loud, her voice rising up across the others as they yell at each other and tumble around, giggling. He wonders if she'd scream this time, if he took her. Ah, and there it is again, that word. He's _wondering_.

He wants (_needs_) to know.

When she tumbles off the dance floor in a flurry of limbs and high pitched, grating, laughter, searching for the punch bowl, he catches her eye. A smile, a wave, and there's the recognition. She seems to recoil for a moment, curling into herself, but then forces her face back into something happy. He waves her over, and she comes without a word, plastic smile glued to her lips. It's not unusual. Plenty of the girls don't like to remember that they made their "indiscretions", or want the boys to expect more. With her though, he doesn't think that that's why. More than likely was that she associated him with the aftermath of the breakup, associated him with crawling her way back out of that black little hole. He's certain that he can fix this though, simply enough.

Another smile, a brush of his hand against hers. She looks at his fingers touching her skin for a moment, and he thinks he sees something more than a ditzy, heartbroken girl. For a moment, he thinks he sees her judging, assessing, _knowing_ exactly what he's doing, but then it disappears and she's smiling up at him tentatively. He stores this for later consideration, and leans in close.

"You want to get out of here?" he whispers, quiet, assuring. Her perfume is stronger tonight, and it makes him want to pull back, crinkling his nose, but he doesn't. He stays close, letting his breath waft across her skin.

She shrugs in response, an action of haphazard acceptance more than anything, but he takes it. They slip out through the bouncing students, avoiding the watchful gazes of the chaperones.

This time, they do it in a supply closet a floor above where the mixer is taking place.

She's much more pliable than the last time, letting him push the dress up over her head and discarding it on the floor. She closes her eyes as he touches her, palms pressing against her plush, weighted curves. She doesn't say anything though. She doesn't make noise and conform, like she seems to be doing with everything else tonight.

He has her pressed against the wall, supported against a precarious stack of boxes as they move, breathing rapidly. He presses her, strokes her, in all the right ways, yet nothing comes of it. She's silent. He doesn't understand it.

"My name," he orders. "Say it." She says nothing.

He slows, head resting against her shoulder, shifting tactics. "I want to hear you say it," he murmurs, his voice soft, caring. He takes care to keep a pleading tone out though, because Archie Costello doesn't plead. "My name," he murmurs again.

There's a hitch in her breath, a pause in her demeanor. "My name," he urges again, and holds still, only shuddering with the effort of restraint. He can feel her heart slowing, fingers unsure on his shoulders now.

Then: "Costello." It's gasped, quiet. It's noise. Sweet, sweet noise. Normality.

He moves again, and grasps her tightly, listening as she chants the three syllables over and over again, meaninglessly, until he arrives and they collapse against each other in a boneless heap.

This time, it's him who gets up to leave, quickly smoothing out his clothing and turning away, content with the triumph he's made. His hand is on the handle, turning it, when she says tiredly, "Costello, let's not do that again. I'm tired of your game. You've won, anyway."

"Of course not," he says, keeping his shock buried, and walks out, feeling that somehow he's stepped onto the wrong track once again. He wonders how much longer it will take for him to figure this stupid girl out.

Still wondering. He curses himself.


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N:** _HOLY nfklj,.rahKJFhuiaH. I actually finished something multi-chaptered, even if it is really short and OOC. That's sort of amazing for me. Know what else is amazing? Including the author notes, the last two chapters were exactly the same word length, and I didn't even try to make them the same! I think that's pretty cool.  
_

_Anyway, here's the last chapter people!_

_**Part Three**_

He drives past her school one day, just at the time she gets out. The issue has been irking him for a while now, and he wants to put an end to it.

Some of the girls give him a quick glance as they pass him, sitting in the car beside the sidewalk, the engine still running. They're only quick glances though, nothing more. It's not uncommon for guys from other schools to pick their girlfriends or sisters sometimes, after all.

As the crowd thins out, he taps against the side of his wheel impatiently, eyes carefully appraising the stragglers that are still slipping out of the school. It takes a while, and he almost misses her, but eventually he spots the girl.

She's by herself, rather than tucked into a small group as many of the others are. One arm is wrapped around a book, the other keeping her backpack up over her shoulder as she walks. Her hair falls down in front of her eyes, blocking them from view.

When she reaches the sidewalk, he calls out, waving. "Hey!"

She looks up for a brief second, eyebrow rising in a sort of disbelieving recognition, and then keeps on walking. Archie watches her go for a second, then presses lightly on the accelerator, moving the car forward after her. The car pulls up directly next to her, and he lets it coast along for a while, taking note that she continues to ignore him. After a moment he says, "You know, it's rude to ignore someone."

Without looking up, she shoots back, "You know, it's rude to stalk someone. And just a bit creepy, I think." Archie almost smiles at the words, shaking his head.

"I'd hardly call this stalking. We've only ever met, what, three times? And I've never even searched you out deliberately." He slows down the car further, as she pauses for a moment, then continues forward.

"Never searched me out deliberately? Then what's this?"

He shrugs, even though she isn't looking, and leans back in the seat, readjusting the wheel slightly. "I was just passing by," he tells her. It's a blatant lie. He meant it to be.

Chuckling slightly, she turns to him, stopping fully. He presses down on the breaks and smiles at her, watching her shake her head in amusement. "You want a ride, anyway?" he asks. His fingers are tapping along the side of the wheel again, waiting for her to say yes. She doesn't.

Her hand rests on the side of his car door, her body leaning in like she's about to agree, but instead the words that come out are, "I'd rather not." Still, her hand stays in place and she doesn't move away.

The car rumbles dully beneath him, protesting the stopped rate of movement. "Why not?" He's still smiling at her calmly as he asks, fingers pausing their tap-tap-tapping against the wheel.

She 'hm's quietly, sighing, and pulls back a bit. "Well," she says, "I've heard that there are some pretty rotten things that go on around Trinity." She pauses here, eyes narrowing marginally. "I've heard that…you have to be pretty vigilant about who you trust, from that school."

Archie doesn't miss the word. Vigilant.

Sometimes people hear about The Vigils outside the school. It's not often, but sometimes they do. He's curious as to how she found out specifically, but refrains from asking. He'll find out eventually if he really wants to. Anyways, it's not like she's warning him off with it. It's more like she's playing a game, letting him know that she knows. Letting him know she's not clueless. And honestly, he's perfectly happy to play along. Games can be very fun.

His hands slide off the wheel and down to the keys, turning them and pulling them out with a small click. The car goes silent, and he grins more widely at her, teeth coming into view from behind his lips. "How about I walk with you then, instead?" He poises his hand against the door's handle experimentally, waiting for her reaction, and when she shrugs, backing away a few feet, he takes it as a go ahead, opening the car door and slipping out.

They walk together, down the sidewalk, at a steady pace, not saying anything for a minute. Archie begins considering which direction to take the conversation in, but before he can truly evaluate anything, she speaks again.

"So. Do you know anything about this supposedly dangerous organization at your school?" she asks. The way she's looking at him says that she already knows that he's part of it, but he just shrugs.

"Oh, everyone knows about it. It's just a little school tradition." He watches, waiting for her reaction, observing.

She looks up, squinting, delaying her response for a moment, then looks back at him. "School tradition? Really? I've heard some pretty horrible things happen over there, just because of school tradition then."

"Horrible?" Archie's voice has a shocked lilt to it, though he was expecting something along those lines. He's never seen anything wrong with the assignments, with manipulating others. It's a dog eat dog world, as they say, but most people seems to forget this fact.

"Yeah," she says, "Actually, I've heard the whole organization is pretty messed up, and the leader, well—they say he's just a bastard."

Archie almost stops midstep before recovering and pushing forward. She just called him a bastard. To his face.

Now, it's not like he doesn't know that he's hated, and feared, and that people call him the worst names imaginable. It's just that it's always been behind his back. The only person who ever came close to saying it to his face was Renault, just by refusing his orders, but no one has ever actually come right out and _said_ it to him. And she doesn't stop there, no. The next words that come out of her mouth are, "And you know what? I've met him before, actually, and I agree. He's an utter _bastard_."

She knows who he is, doesn't she? Of course she does. They wouldn't be having this conversation if she didn't, but—she just keeps right on. Either she's the biggest idiot he's ever met, or the bravest. (There isn't much of a difference between the two though, he knows.) Still, he feels something akin to respect pushing its way up inside him for the words, for being able to say them out so simply. He mentions none of this, of course.

Archie shoves his hands in his pockets, raising one eyebrow at her, and calmly murmurs, "I'd watch what you were saying if I were you. I don't think he'd be too happy to hear that." He means it, and he's pretty sure she _knows_ that he means it, but somehow he's glad that there isn't suddenly a falter in her step or a slight submissive leaning to her posture. He almost wants to her to keep pushing, to keep challenging. He almost doesn't want to unravel this one conundrum. He wants her to keep him guessing, on his toes.

"Really?" she asks, and there's perhaps a trace of sarcasm in the tone. "Then maybe he needs to hear it."

He wants her to keep on surprising him, like the rest of the world refuses to.

She does.


End file.
